Insomnia
by Misako
Summary: Hermione wrestles with more than just an unexpected houseguest.


Insomnia

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Chapter One – Where Angels Dare to Tread

Title: Insomnia (1/?)

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Author **Name**: Misako

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Author **Email**: cleopatra0705@yahoo.com

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Category: Romance/Angst 

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Keywords: Hermione Tom Harry Ron Soul

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Rating: R

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Spoilers: PS, CoS, PoA, GoF, FB, QTTA 

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Summary: Hermione wrestles with more than just an unexpected houseguest. 

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Disclaimer: This story is based on characters and situations created and owned by JK Rowling, various publishers including but not limited to Bloomsbury Books, Scholastic Books and Raincoast Books, and Warner Bros., Inc. The poem _Insomnia_ is by Dante Gabriel Rossetti. 

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Author's Note: This was pretty much begun because of the people on the Leather Librarian thread at www.forums4fans.com. They presented a wonderful ficlet idea for Tom/Hermione, and I couldn't resist.

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Archival: This can be archived anywhere - just contact me and ask!

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Chapter Summary: Hermione has issues with her new roommate - can she learn to put up with him? Or will it lead to something else entirely?

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Insomnia

Chapter One: Where Angels Dare to Tread

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Thin are the night-skirts left behind  
By daybreak hours that onward creep,  
And thin, alas! the shred of sleep  
That wavers with the spirit's wind:  
But in half-dreams that shift and roll  
And still remember and forget,

My soul this hour has drawn your soul  
A little nearer yet.  


- Dante Gabriel Rossetti, **Insomnia**

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July 29th, 1997

London, England

The lake was shimmering and clear, ripples flickering over the surface. 

She was the only occupant at the lakefront, the lapping water kissing her toes as she dangled her legs off the small wooden dock. Nothing marred the pristine clarity of the pale blue sky. She sighed, bracing her arms beside her on the well-worn wood, her simple lavender skirt tucked beneath her legs and a cream coloured camisole hanging loosely from her upper body. A slight wind tousled her wavy chocolate brown hair, sending several strands flying into her face. The singing trill of a bird was the only sound to interrupt the silence as even the trees barely made a sound.

The splash of a rock hitting the water startled her into reality and she twisted her body around to look at who had disturbed her solitude.

A tall young man stood behind her, his black hair tousled, mouth quirked up at the corners into a self-confident smirk, wearing a neatly pressed green dress shirt tucked into black trousers. Spit-shined black dress shoes completed the sophisticated outfit, though they appeared incongruous in such an environment. 

"Granger," the word was spoken through soft lips, nearly a whisper. "Hermione … wake up,"

She startled as she felt hands shaking her shoulders, breaking the spell of the dream and casting her back into reality - albeit, a rather hazy reality. She opened her eyes to find herself on her bed in her London flat, the morning sunlight streaming through the obnoxiously flower-patterned curtains that someone had swept open. She looked before her, and found the same ebony-haired man from her dream standing before her, though he was neither well dressed nor smirking. 

She flushed slightly, sitting up and propping herself up against the wooden headboard of her bed. 

"What are you doing in here?" Hermione asked, cocking her head to the side and fixating a glare on the man.

"You're going to be late for your morning meeting," he replied, a smile curling at his lips as he ran his eyes over her and assessed the condition of her sleep-rumpled clothes.

She blushed again and frantically grabbed at her comforter, which had been kicked down to her knees. "Get out of here, Tom," she snapped, waving him away.

He smirked at her again before retreating from her room. She could hear him making his way down the hall, no doubt heading to the kitchen. Her guess was substantiated when she heard the sound of cabinets being opened and plates being removed. She climbed out of bed and headed to the bathroom, closing the door behind her when she'd made it inside. Admittedly, she was still uncomfortable with sharing her flat with a member of the opposite sex, much less sharing it with the seventeen-year-old soul of Tom Marvolo Riddle, the man who would become Lord Voldemort. Apparently in his days at Hogwarts, he'd discovered a way to separate and seal away parts of his soul in a green leather journal, which Dumbledore had given to her for her graduation present. Hermione still couldn't comprehend why he'd chosen her to put up with Tom, who was vexing her day after day with his arrogant smirks and propensity for appearing where he shouldn't have been - like her room. A pinkish tinge still remained on her cheeks as she turned on the tap to wash her face. Even through her preparations, she couldn't tear her thoughts away from the man that sat in her kitchen, calmly reading The Daily Prophet and sipping a cup of tea.

******

"He did what!" Ron Weasley exploded when Hermione recounted the morning's events to him. They sat around a large, circular table, Harry Potter to her right and Ron to her left. She'd told them the situation while they waited for the Ministry of Magic officials that they'd be presenting their report to. She, Ron and Harry had all been recruited as soon as they'd graduated for coveted jobs at the Ministry Think Tank. Harry was often absent, due to his Auror training, and Ron was assisting his brothers Fred and George in their joke shop endeavour. "That son-of-a-bitch,"

"Ron!" Hermione reprimanded, slightly appalled at her friend's colourful usage of the English language. "I don't think this warrants quite that much vehemence!"

"He walked in on you, Hermione," Ron reminded her, his face nearly as red as his hair. "What if you'd been…you know…"

"Naked?" Harry supplied. He hadn't made a remark so far, and Hermione and Ron both turned to look at him. "That's what you were intending to say, right Ron?"

Ron nodded his acknowledgement.

Harry cautiously continued, his voice flat and devoid of his usual exuberance. "Ron, I don't think Dumbledore would've given that journal to Hermione if he thought Tom would hurt her," The three of them had stopped calling the professor by his title when they'd graduated - Dumbledore had insisted they cease calling him "Professor". 

"But I'm sure he didn't expect Tom walking in on me in the morning," Hermione reminded Harry.

"I don't know what he expected, but after all this time, wouldn't you have learned to trust Dumbledore?" Harry rationalized, one black eyebrow arched questioningly. 

"I guess," Hermione answered reluctantly. She was still inclined to wonder if Dumbledore's intentions were respectable but misguided. 

Harry smiled at her reassuringly, though a furrow appeared between his brows. She smiled back at him, watching as he straightened the collar of his black dress robes. Harry would've much preferred to be in the leather jacket his godfather Sirius Black had given him as a graduation present, but Ministry dress-code required him to appear presentable. Ron sat stiffly in his chair, his dress robes, though not new like hers and Harry's, were certainly less frayed than the ones he'd had fourth year. Harry picked up a cup of black coffee from a saucer that had been sitting before him, sipping at the dark liquid inside. He replaced the cup on the saucer and gathered up a small stack of papers from the table, his emerald eyes rapidly scanning over the contents of the pages.

Ron muttered discontentedly in his seat, nervously twisting the watch he wore on his right wrist. He startled as the doors suddenly opened, and the Minister of Magic, Cornelius Fudge, walked in, accompanied by two assistants who scurried to catch up to their employer.

"What have you devised?" Fudge asked, sitting down in the chair opposite from Hermione in a flurry of black dress robes.

"Well, sir…"

******

Hermione was no more reassured that night when she returned home, her mind swimming with her own thoughts and Harry's comments on her predicament. Admittedly she had initially been reluctant to allow Tom to live with her, but as the weeks had went by, she had developed an affinity for the handsome black-haired young man. 

She absentmindedly removed her robes as she walked to her room, loosening her hair from the chignon she'd had it pinned in all day. She walked into her room, casting the robes onto her bed as she made her way to her desk, removing the diamond stud earrings she'd been wearing and placing them on the smooth lacquered wooden surface. Inhaling deeply, she could smell the faint scent of spaghetti bolognaise, Tom's favourite. She removed her shoes and smoothed out the wrinkles in the peach coloured skirt she had worn under the dress robes. Giving herself a one last assessment in the mirror, she followed the delicious scent to the kitchen, where Tom, indeed, was setting aside a plate of spaghetti bolognaise for himself. A large pot of the still steaming pasta sat on the stove and a plate had been set aside for her, waiting to be laden with spaghetti bolognaise.

"Tom," she greeted, smiling at him as she closed her eyes and took in the mouth-watering scent. She made her way over to the pot and helped herself to a large plate of the pasta. She opened a drawer and removed a fork, slamming it shut with her hip. She followed Tom to the kitchen table and sat down across from him. She immediately dug in after she sat down - she hadn't eaten since breakfast that morning. Tom watched her with an amused smile on his face, his fork still hovering over his plate.

She looked up at him questioningly, fork halfway to her mouth. "Yes?"

"Do you plan on slowing down?" the tone was definitely amused.

"I haven't eaten since breakfast," Hermione replied, ignoring Tom's snort and shoveling another forkful into her mouth.

"I'm so glad you enjoy my cooking," Tom laughed, a smile spreading across his face. Hermione paused and looked at him for a moment, caught like a deer-in-the-headlights in Tom's steady blue-gray gaze.

"You can stop staring," the sarcasm in his voice was palpable.

Hermione caught herself and looked back down at her plate, which was nearly empty. His acerbic attitude seemed to be a far cry from what Harry had told her of the condescending, arrogant boy he'd confronted in the Chamber of Secrets. 

"Do you do anything while I'm gone?" Hermione asked, hoping to prompt some small talk.

"Not really, except for casting a few Unforgivable Curses,"

Hermione choked on her pasta. "What?" she gasped as she tried to stop coughing.

Tom leapt up from his chair, made his way over, and began pounding on her back. He offered a glass of water and she took it gratefully. 

"I was only joking," he said, his voice slightly alarmed. 

When her coughs had finally subsided, Hermione took a deep breath before speaking. "Yes, well, it's hard to take comments like that lightly, especially coming from you,"

A shadow crossed Tom's face. "Yes, you've told me what I've become,"

Hermione shivered at the thought of Tom's handsome face transformed into the distorted creature whose name struck fear in the hearts of the inhabitants of the Wizarding World.

Silence reigned for the rest of the dinner, their moods dampened and a worrisome thought burgeoning in Hermione's mind.

******

The morning rays of sunlight shafted through Hermione's windows the next morning, illuminating a square of pale peach carpet that covered the floor. Her alarm flicked on, blaring operatic music as loud as the little machine could go; the silly muggle invention that her parents had given to her for her sixteenth birthday. 

The scent of hazelnut coffee wafted through the closed door, and she could hear the dim rustle of the newspaper. Hermione rolled over in her bed. She could never understand how Tom could wake up so early. He rose everyday at six-thirty a.m. - she slept straight through until her alarm sounded. 

Groaning, she swung her legs over the side of her bed and paused for a moment to rub the sleep from her eyes. She grabbed a peach coloured satin robe and headed for the bathroom. Just as she stepped out of her door, she nearly collided with Tom. Startled, she jerked back and let out a shriek; she desperately reached for something to steady herself, and by some stroke of fate, managed to grasp Tom's arm. The muscles in his arm tensed as he braced himself against her falling weight, and in a remote corner of her mind that had managed to escape the influx of fear that had flooded through her veins, she realized how strong he really was. Like Harry, he was unusually slight, but also held toned muscles that slid easily beneath the burgundy veins and smooth skin. Her decent to the floor stopped almost as soon as it started, and she allowed him to steady her with an arm around the one she was holding onto him with. 

"Sorry," Hermione apologized, as she was upright. She flushed and smoothed her hair with her free hand, her robe still draped over her other arm. She adjusted her pale lavender camisole top, which had been threatening to slide down and expose her breasts. 

"I'm sorry," Tom replied, concern evident in his smoky blue irises. His delicately shaped lips were pursed, an expression he took on when he was annoyed with himself. "I should've ---"

Hermione closed her eyes for a brief moment and swallowed hard. She let out a breath she hadn't known she was holding and tentatively reached up and placed her index and middle fingers on his lips, stilling their movement and stealing the words from his lips, sending them into oblivion. 

"Shh," she whispered, her fingers shaking she felt the smoothness of his lips beneath her fingertips. Tom gazed at her, a swirl of emotions surging through his misty cerulean eyes. She released her robe from her grip, and it fell to the floor, pooling into a silken pile at her feet. She moved her hands to cup his face, feeling the slight prickle of stubble on his face. She shifted to the tips of her toes and softly placed her lips upon his, her movements shy at first, but becoming more daring as Tom reached around her waist and pulled her body flush against his. He opened his mouth and deepened the kiss, raising a hand to stroke her cheek with his thumb.

She moaned and broke away, allowing them both to catch their breath. She could feel his warmth of his hands through the thin layer of silk that covered her body and she sighed, allowing herself to melt into him, feeling like she'd just reached the Elysian Fields.

He held her tight and kissed the top her head, neither caring that the coffee still sat in their cups and the Daily Prophet was still open on the tabletop.

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-------- To Be Continued -------

A/N: This was originally intended to be a one-parter, but I decided to leave a little room so that I could perhaps start a novel-length TMR/HG fic in the future, after I'm finished with my other fanfiction, _The Time Imperative_. 

Thanks to everyone for their support and esp. to those on the Leather Librarian thread on Fanforum - this is for you!

Next Time: What progresses next? What will Hermione and Tom do? How will Harry and Ron react? 

Author's Soundtrack while writing Chapter Two: (these are all very varied)

_The Red Violin_ – The Red Violin OST feat. Joshua Bell _Gladiator - _Gladiator OSTs _The Distance to Here_ - Live _Ray of Light_ - Madonna 

See you soon…

Misako (9.18.02)

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